


Brynjolf's Lad

by ThornWild



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub, Light BDSM, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with a little bit of Plot, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22565977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornWild/pseuds/ThornWild
Summary: Edwane is guild master. Brynjolf is his man, loyal to a fault, and does his bidding when there’s guild business to be taken care of, but sometimes new recruits can be heard asking some of the older ones how Brynjolf can get away with calling the guild master ‘lad’. They quickly learn not to ask. It’s none of their business anyway.
Relationships: Brynjolf/Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Brynjolf/Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn
Comments: 4
Kudos: 154





	Brynjolf's Lad

**Author's Note:**

> This little piece is in no small part inspired by the wonderful mod Brynjolf Has Time For You by Elisabeth Jackson Hall. I give her full credit for the idea for the guild master's quarters, though the dialogue and plot development (what little there is) is my own. Edwane is my cute little redheaded Breton thief, and this is my own gratuitous fantasy about him and his second in command.

Brynjolf’s hands are large and rough. Edwane knows this because of the time when Brynjolf caught hold of his arm to pull him out of the way of a falling rock when they were chasing Mercer through Irkngthand. As if it weren’t enough that the way Brynjolf calls him ‘lad’ makes Edwane weak at the knees, now he has to think about those hands, the roughness of them, every time he sees his second in command.

Edwane is guild master now. Brynjolf is his man, loyal to a fault, and does his bidding when there’s guild business to be taken care of, but Edwane wants more than that. He’s fairly sure Brynjolf knows that, but Edwane’s hints are getting him nowhere. He knows that Brynjolf won’t make the first move. He wants Edwane to come to him.

And in the end, Edwane does. One night in the Flagon, he finds Brynjolf sitting at a table by himself with a tankard of in his hand, and he sits.

‘Evening, lad. Sorry, I mean guild master.’ Brynjolf smiles.

Edwane laughs. ‘You don’t have to call me that. I . . . like things to be informal between us.’

Brynjolf’s eyes glisten in the low light and he smirks. ‘Is that an order?’

‘Call it a request.’

‘I hear you, lad.’ Brynjolf sips his mead, but his eyes never leave Edwane. ‘Got any other requests?’

It’s as good as an invitation, but Edwane still hesitates. How does he articulate what he wants? He leans in closer, not that anyone is listening in. ‘If you’ve got a minute . . .’

‘For you, I’ve got more than a minute.’

‘Can we go somewhere and . . . talk?’

‘Of course. Come on.’

Brynjolf drains his drink and stands. Without another word, he leads Edwane into the back, through the Cistern, and to the door to the guild master’s chambers. Edwane was surprised to find this particular perk of the job; spacious quarters with room for much of what he’s gathered in his adventures. He hardly ever sleeps in Honeyside anymore. He likes to think that Iona brings lovers there when he’s not home, so the space is used for something fun.

His second shuts and locks the door behind them, then turns to Edwane. ‘So. What did you want to talk about?’

Edwane licks his lips. ‘I don’t want to talk.’

‘No? Then what do you want, lad?’

And now Edwane throws caution to the wind, because Brynjolf can’t be speaking to him this way by accident. Calling him ‘lad’ in that deep, soft voice of his. He must know what it’s doing to him. He must.

‘I want you to kiss me.’

For several seconds, they simply stand there. Edwane’s heart is in his throat. He’s fought every monster known to man, he’s dealt with Daedric princes, he’s the fucking Dragonborn, for Nocturnal’s sake. Yet this is the most terrified he’s ever been, waiting for this man to answer, to do something, anything.

Brynjolf steps closer. He doesn’t say a word. A large, rough hand slips around the back of Edwane’s neck and squeezes. He’s so close, his nose brushing against Edwane’s now, but the kiss doesn’t come. Instead, Brynjolf murmurs, ‘On your knees, lad.’

Edwane obeys immediately. He gets to his knees, eyes fixed on the floor and breath coming in ragged pulls.

‘Good lad,’ says Brynjolf softly. His hand still on the back of Edwane’s neck, he pulls his face against his groin, and Edwane breathes in the scent of leather, and something else too—something dark and musky and sweet. ‘We’ll get to what you want in a second,’ says Brynjolf. ‘But first, here’s what I want. Look at me, lad.’ Edwane tilts his chin up and looks Brynjolf in the eye. ‘I want you to suck my cock.’

Edwane’s breath hitches in his throat and he swallows. ‘Yes,’ he whispers. He watches as Brynjolf undoes his trousers and pulls out his cock. It’s long and thick and heavy, and already half hard. Edwane opens his mouth, eager and more than ready.

Brynjolf holds Edwane’s head in place with those large, rough hands, and fucks his face with shallow thrusts. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t make much noise at all, just the odd grunt between heavy breaths. Edwane’s cock is painfully hard in the trousers of his new guild master armour. He reaches down, palms himself through the leather.

Brynjolf stops moving his hips. ‘No, lad. None of that. Hands off.’

Edwane pulls his hand away with a pathetic whimper. He’s so turned on he can barely think.

‘You can touch yourself when I say so, not before.’ Brynjolf runs his hand gently through Edwane’s hair, then tightens his fist, pulling, before he starts moving his hips again, deeper thrusts this time. Edwane’s eyes water and he coughs and drools around Brynjolf’s cock, but he doesn’t try to pull away. He wants this. Wants Brynjolf to do whatever he likes to him.

After about a minute, Brynjolf pulls away. ‘Take your clothes off,’ he says, and again, Edwane obeys. Then he gets back on his knees, as Brynjolf indicates. ‘You can touch yourself now. I want to watch you come.’

Brynjolf strokes himself slowly as he watches Edwane beat off. Just as Edwane is about to come, Brynjolf says, ‘Catch it with your other hand.’

As he comes with a loud groan, Edwane does what he’s told, tries to catch his spending in his other hand. He gets most of it. Brynjolf tells him to stand and takes his hand, gathering the sticky cum in his own hand. ‘On the bed, on all fours,’ he commands. Then he proceeds to rub his sticky fingers against Edwane’s hole, sliding a finger inside for good measure. He leans forward, leaning on Edwane’s back, and whispers in his ear, ‘I’m going to fuck you. I’ve wanted to since the day we met in the marketplace. Wanted to bend you over and take you. And I know how much you want to be taken.’

‘Yes!’ is all Edwane can manage. Then he groans as Brynjolf crooks his finger inside him.

Brynjolf lets go of him and steps back. Edwane can hear the sound of straps and belts being unfastened as Brynjolf gets undressed behind him. And then he’s pressing inside, filling Edwane with that large cock, and Edwane groans. What with his recent orgasm, he’s quite relaxed, but it still aches a bit. Still, that’s nothing to the pleasure he feels when Brynjolf’s cock nudges something in there, something that makes Edwane see stars.

‘How are you doing, lad?’ Brynjolf asks once he’s all the way in. ‘You feel all right?’

Edwane nods, tries to breathe out. ‘Yeah. I’m good. It . . . it feels good.’

‘Good.’ Then Brynjolf starts moving again. He’s gentle at first, but soon he picks up speed and fucks Edwane harder, holding him down with those large, rough hands, until he’s pounding his arse with abandon. ‘Feels good for me too. Fuck, your arse is tight . . .’ He pulls out, flips Edwane over on his back and enters him again, staring into his eyes this time. Edwane is hard again by now and Brynjolf takes him in hand, stroking him to the rhythm of his thrusts until they both approach completion and he finally, at last, bends forward and kisses Edwane.

With Brynjolf’s lips on his own, Edwane doesn’t stand a chance of holding back and he comes for the second time this night. Brynjolf follows a moment later, filling Edwane with his seed. Marking him from the inside, as _his_.

After a few moments, he pulls out. Edwane, exhausted, can barely move, but Brynjolf manoeuvres him under the covers. He disappears from view for a moment and returns with a waterskin, letting Edwane drink deep. Then he slides into bed next to him, stroking his hair. ‘How are you feeling?’

Edwane smiles at him sleepily. ‘Good. Tired . . . but good.’

Brynjolf chuckles. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Then he kisses Edwane again, softly now, gently. ‘You did well,’ he murmurs. ‘You’re good at taking instruction, but then I already knew that.’

‘What happens now?’ asks Edwane, stifling a yawn.

‘Now, you sleep. As for what comes next . . . I want it to involve much more of this, but we’ll talk about that tomorrow.’ He kisses Edwane’s forehead. ‘Goodnight, lad.’

Edwane’s last thought before he drifts off is that that word from Brynjolf’s lips sounds like an endearment and feels like a caress.

Edwane is guild master. Brynjolf is his man, loyal to a fault, and does his bidding when there’s guild business to be taken care of, but sometimes new recruits can be heard asking some of the older ones how Brynjolf can get away with calling the guild master ‘lad’. They quickly learn not to ask. It’s none of their business anyway.

When it comes to the guild, Edwane’s in charge. But at night, in his chambers, he is Brynjolf’s lad; nothing more and nothing less.


End file.
